He knew his training as much as Hux knew what he had been raised on. Every Knight took care of their own wounds unless absolutely unable to do otherwise, and each learned early on how to survive and concentrate on the pain that might torture a lesser man. They were to rise above it, to use the natural reactions of the body to clear their mind and focus on what was more important. Use the adrenaline to fuel a fight, as a natural pain killer, to fuel their anger. He could count on one hand the amount of times that he had been to a state where he had to be patched up by someone other than his own hand, and each time left him with anger and a shattered ego that he rebuilt. Even with his wound, he should have been able to handle the traitor and the scavenger. As far as he knew, the traitor was dead, as he should be, but her. How was she capable of such things with no training? Who was she?! It infuriated him and had been the subject of his looping thoughts... along with what would come as a price for his failure to keep her.

Ren snorted rudely, hardly cared. "He will hardly blame you for my pain." No, the blame would solely be on himself. A part of the price of his pathetic failure. "Your medical staff has handled the wound enough. I won't die from it." His head shifted, just enough to run his gaze over Hux again. "Be careful, General. It almost sounds like you were worried."